c'est la guerre
by alivingfantasy
Summary: "He wasn't sure who, exactly, he expected to find on his porch, but he never would've guessed it to be the mocha-eyed brunette with the rarely-visible dimples waiting there." Three-shot. Toby, as he meets someone who gives him hope. Spoby 1x16. Dedicated to Christine, aka lostinthemusicx11!
1. the unexpected

**-:-**

-c'est la guerre-

-:-

Summary: "He wasn't sure who, exactly, he expected to find on his front porch, but he would've never guessed it to be the mocha-eyed brunette with the rarely visible dimples waiting there." Three-shot. Toby, as he meets someone who gives him hope. Spoby 1x16.

-:-

**I've been re-watching seasons 1 and 2 in preparation for the season 3 premiere, and the 116 Spoby scene, I felt, really just hinted at what would happen for Spence and Toby once they opened up to each other and found the solace and love they'd been searching for. So this is my interpretation of that arc, told in Toby's perspective. **

**Oh, and before I forget—Chris, this one's for you. Keep writing your amazing stories, and I hope you enjoy this one, and it isn't _too _crappy. ;) xo.**

**~Ana**

**-:-**

**-un: the unexpected-**

It was no secret that Toby Cavanaugh had learned to expect the unexpected.

He had never thought he could have ended up a slave—a _prisoner_—to his vindictive, sly stepsister (_"It would be so easy to convince my Mommy and your Daddy that you've been forcing yourself on me."_). Those long, terrible nights he'd spent with Jenna, her skimpy lingerie discarded, her husky voice murmuring things to him that he had no interest in hearing…he still had nightmares about them. He remembered spending an hour in the shower afterward, scrubbing himself raw, desperately trying to cleanse himself of the metaphorical filth and obscenities.

Of course, it had been the perfect secret, the perfect torment to dangle over his head, for the manipulative blonde (who now beamed out on charity fund posters and newspaper headlines and memorials, the _beautiful, _the _loyal, _the _true friend, _the _popular_) to get him (the _underdog_, the _misunderstood_, the _sketchy_, the _creep_) to frame him for blinding her with the damn grenade or bomb or whatever she and her posse had stuck in the garage.

Toby never had anticipated a year in reform school, with the _real_ bad ones. The meth addicts, the drug dealers, the gang members. He wasn't one of them. He was actually a good guy, if you bothered getting to know him. He was smart, sensitive, and thoughtful…but his ordeal had changed him. He trusted no one.

_And no one trusted him._

Half the town, maybe more, considered him a killer, a monster, a freak; and those who didn't were either high, alcoholics, babies, or didn't follow the news. People crossed the street on the opposite side when they saw him coming, although no one could prove he'd hurt anyone.

_And he hadn't._

He hadn't peeked in anyone's window (how voyeuristic, not to mention psychotic), hadn't killed the infamous blonde beauty (as much as he had thought she was a vapid, shallow, insert-not-very-nice-word-here), hadn't run Hanna Marin down with an SUV (he hardly even knew her). The problem was, no one believed him.

_How can you clear your name when it's been tarnished beyond repair?_

In a way, he had Alison to thank for this one. And her friends. Hanna. Blond, pretty, the new "It" girl. Aria. Eccentric. She was the one smart enough to get out of Rosewood, but thoughtless enough to come back. Emily. Sweet. Shy. Who he'd considered a friend, once upon a time. And then there was Spencer. Smart. Witty. The one who'd probably cursed his name more times than everyone else in Rosewood combined.

Even he himself knew that the Hastings girl despised him to the very core.

So when there was a knock at the door, and Jenna yelled, "Toby! Someone's at the door!", he yanked it open a crack, wondering who was trying to sell them brownies or vacuum cleaners, and the "we're not buying today" froze on his tongue, the one eye peeping out of the ajar door widening slightly.

He wasn't sure who, exactly, he expected to find on his front porch, but he never would've guessed it to be the mocha-eyed brunette with the rarely visible dimples waiting there, peering at him, books clutched to her slim frame.

"Hi." She said, her voice slightly nervous, shaky. He was scaring her, just being this close to her. A stab of resentment went through him. She didn't know him, goddamn it, and she was making silent judgments and accusations about him that were totally off the mark. The Rosewood "golden girl" had probably never been told she was wrong before.

_This time she was. So, so horribly wrong._

She held out a sheaf of letters, probably from the mailbox some "upstanding" Rosewood citizen searching for justice had hit. "I noticed this on the porch on my way up," she explained, shifting her weight slightly. In spite of himself, Toby was intrigued by her slightly husky voice, her unusually deep-set eyes, and, of all things, her confident, self-assured pose, even standing in the foreign territory of the boy who she'd professed hating the bane of the existence of. He wished he could be as sure of himself as Spencer. In fact, he had always envied that quality about her.

He reached out to take the letters, figuring she was attempting to be polite, and went to shut the door.

"Wait!" she interrupted. He stopped, his icy-blue eyes focused on the suddenly slightly-nervous girl in front of him through the crack. "I-I'm here to tutor you. Someone from the school called to tell you, didn't they?"

What Toby didn't know—what Spencer, too, was oblivious to—was the fact that this pivotal moment would define what came next. She could've ignored the poster in the hallway. He could have slammed the door in her face. They could have gone back to distrusting each other, to feeling no connection to each other, and everything that was to come after—the motel, the kiss, the truck, the rocking chair, the true love they both so desperately needed—would have never existed. It's the little moments in life that make the biggest impact.

But of course Toby didn't know that.

Slowly, he shut the door, pulled open the chain latch, then opened it again. A flicker of something he couldn't quite discern passed through Spencer's eyes.

_He guessed with the walls she put up she was close to impossible to read._

A question hung in the air between them, stifling them with the accusations and the awkwardness and the distrust. _Why?_

"Why you?" he asked deliberately. If there was one thing Toby Cavanaugh didn't do, it was lie. He hated liars, hated the filthy, guilty feeling that came with it. And saying anything else, like, "Cool, let's get going" because that would be a blatant, obvious falsity. And, plus, he really wanted to know why.

_There was always a motivation behind Spencer Hastings' actions._

She gave him that look again, a slight smirk crossing her face. "Because I'm in AP French." She paused, then continued, "And I volunteered."

_Yeah, so you could interrogate me, _he thought. _Try to sniff out what happened between me and Alison—and while you're at it, the sordid details of being Jenna's plaything. _

He wanted to slam the door in her face.

But he didn't.

And, while he didn't know it now, he would be so glad he didn't, years later.

But for now, their story was just beginning.


	2. the past

**-deux: the past-**

Spencer Hastings had known Toby for years, but she din't really _know _him.

_Not yet._

Toby could remember the first time he saw the slim, pretty brunette. Third grade, Mrs. Smith's class. He sat one seat in front of her in the fifth row from the door, and he noticed immediately what a suck-up she was. She raised her hand to answer every qustion, whether it was math ("One nickel, four dimes, and two pennies.") or science ("Saturn is the planet with the most known moons in our solar system."). In contrast, he just sat silently, picking at the chipped wood of his desk, making piles of pencil shavings, and only answering when the teacher forced him to, "Toby Cavanaugh! Are you daydreaming again? Tell me what the answer to problem number six is. You don't know? Alright, Spencer, go ahead."

_They were absolutely nothing alike._

And yet, as they looked at each other, sitting _not too close, but not so far away_ from each other on his porch (They couldn't go inside because Jenna was at home and Toby could almost hear her disgruntled reaction if she somehow figured out Spencer was there: _"You sleeping with Princess Hastings now? Did Daddy buy you as her new toy?"_; plus, the ball-and-chain on his leg wasn't helping his mobility, thank you very much), he suddenly flashed back to a day he'd banished from his mind long ago, a day he hadn't considered much since he'd found her on his doorstep, determined, searching for the truth.

_But sometimes the truth did more harm than good._

(He of all people, should know that.)

In any case, the day he was thinking of had been the date of his first- and only, really- conversation with Spencer:

_It was a breezy November day in Rosewood. One of those perfect, sunshiney days, with big puffy clouds, a oft breeze, and a sense of cheer in the air. School had just let out at Rosewood Junior High School for the weekend, and the students were buzzing, chatting about weekend plans, talking and laughing in groups of two or three or four as they headed home. _

_Toby, however, walked alone. He was an outcast at school, the freak loner who did everything in solitary; a pariah in and of himself._

_"Hey!" he heard someone exclaim. "Watch it!" In his haste, he'd accidentally stepped on some girl's pointy-toed boot._

_Turning, the apology died on his lips when he saw the fury written all over the heart-shaped face of Queen Bee Alison DiLaurentis. "These are Tory Burches!" she snapped. "They probably cost more than anything you'll make in your entire life!"_

_"It was probably just an accident, Ali," Spencer piped up quietly. The other four girls had stopped behind their leader to see what was keeping her, and were now witnessing her rage on the taken-aback Toby._

_"Yeah, it was. I'm sorry," Toby apologized, looking the blond in the eye, praying that she'd let it go for once._

_"Oh you will be," Alison snarled. Then, in one fluid motion, she shoved him down on the sidewalk. Pain shot up his arm as it made contact with the bumpy, weathered cement. He cursed under his breath, more stunned than anything else. Alison smiled deviously at him in obvious satisfaction. _

_"Come on, girls," Alison called, resuming her parade through the schoolyard. Aria, Emily, and Hanna obediently followed, glancing nervously at Toby as they walked by, but Spencer, he noticed through the shooting pain, lingered behind. _

_"Hey," she said gently, offering her hand to help him up. "You okay?"_

_"I think so," he managed, hoisting himself to his feet, glancing down at his arm. It hurt like hell, and he could already see the skin purpling into an ugly bruise. Who knew Alison "Bow To Me" DiLaurentis was actually that strong?_

_She winced. "Sorry about Alison. She can be kind of a bitch."_

_"Then why are you friends with her?"_

_She paused, seeming to consider the question. "She's not always like that. Most of the time she's actually really kind. She makes you feel..." here she seemed to be searching for the right word, "...special."_

_"Because she's popular?" he asked curiously. _

_"Maybe. I don't know. She's just...Alison, I guess."_

_He smiled slightly, "I was under the impression that you know everything."_

_She laughed, displaying deep dimples that he recognized as similar to his own. "Well, I haven't found the cure for cancer. Not yet." She sobered quickly. "Seriously, though. Don't let Ali get to you, okay?"_

_"Okay," he agreed. "Thanks."_

_She smiled. "See you around."_

And that was it. For five years, those were the last words she ever spoke to him.

_She was scared._

After Alison fed her that crap about him peeping in their window, his reputation ad been soiled in her eyes, so she hid. Not just from him, per se, but from the world in general, especially after Alison's disappearance. She hid behind her books and her words and her facts.

_Fact: love does not happen when one expects it._

And although at the moment Spencer and Toby were just platonic allies attempting to help each other, although in the past they let skepticism and paranoia rule their minds and their hearts, they would soon learn that they were something more.

It was something that not even the uber-smart Spencer, with her whopping IQ score, could have ever predicted.

They might have been enemies in the past, but they would fall in love in the future.

But right now, they were sitting on his porch, and Toby had no idea what was coming next.

-:-

**Wow, it has been a while since i updated this, so first let me apologize on behalf of this ugly thing called writers block. ugh.**

**Secondly, thank you all SO much for the incredible reviews/favorites/alerts. You guys rock! ;)**

**Also i know this part sucked, but i just wanted to include some background stuff, and i love Spoby flashbacks that foreshadow their reltionship, so yeah.**

**Finally, Chris-Hope you like my sorry excuse for an update and this story in general. i promise promise i'll update the last part asap. xo. :)**

**Until the next time!**

**~Ana **


	3. the connection

**-troix: the connection-**

Toby had never noticed how pretty she was.

Sure, he'd noticed her large, deep-set eyes and silky waves, her delicate limbs and warm smile. And, yes, he'd heard guys comment on how "damn _hot_" she was. But now, sitting three feet away from her on his porch, he really looked. She was gorgeous, in a unique, exotic way. Not a way that jumped out at you, like Emily's sultry beauty, but in a quieter way that creeped up on you.

"I brought you something." The husky verve of her voice startled him out of his reverie. She reached into the bag she'd placed at her feet, handing him a hardcover book.

"L'attrape Coeur," he read, the little French he knew struggling to translate it. "'The Heart Catcher'?"

"It's _The Catcher in the Rye_," Spencer corrected, that same half-smile passing over her _exotically beautiful _face. "I guess there's no literal translation. But it helps to read a book you already know in English."

_That's where she slipped up._

"How do you know I've read it?" he challenged. He _had _read it, but how did she know that? She'd probably been tracking his every move since he'd returned to Rosewood, determined to prove his guilt.

_Or maybe she was looking for someone who could understand her._

"Because I saw you, once," she stammered, trepidation replacing the slight smile on her heart-shaped face. "At the Applerose Grille, you were reading it."

Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't just sit there with the girl who'd considered him the Devil's incarnate, going over French books like everything was okay, pretending that there wasn't a reason she was there in the first place.

_Everyone had motives. Even him._

"What are you doing here?" he exhaled, his blue eyes turning stormy as he attempted to meet her eyes.

She looked at him for a split second, before reaching back into her bag, his question still lingering in the air between them. Evasively, she started, "Mr. Crunchi wants you to review the conditional tense—"

"What do you want?" he rephrased, swallowing back his anger at the brunette.

But she was Spencer Hastings, _straight-A student, class president, field hockey champion, valedictorian. _She wasn't going to give in to him that easily. "What makes you think I want something?"

_Everyone had motives. Even her._

"Because you never do anything without a reason." She always had her motivations, her reasoning and her logic and her plotting. She _always _called the shots.

_He already knew her the way others didn't._

"Did Emily tell you that?" she countered fiercely, her eyes darkening a little in obvious frustration.

"Nobody had to tell me that." He spat in reply. He wasn't made of stone. He knew Spencer Hastings. She was super smart, uptight, an anal perfectionist with a high-class lifestyle. She was extremely wealthy, overly competitive, and an Ivy League in the making. She was a complete three-sixty from him.

_But maybe just as she'd misjudged him, he'd misjudged her._

She recoiled as if he'd slapped her, then bit her plump lower lip, finally sacrificing her ego. "I think…maybe you're…being framed."

If there was anything in the world he'd expected her to say, in a million years, he never would have expected that. His jaw relaxed a little, as he wondered, "What changed your mind?"

"I think somebody may be trying to do the same thing to me. Maybe the same person," she confessed. He raised his eyebrows. Spencer had been Alison's best friend. Why would anybody even think of accusing her? What made her so crucial to the real killer?

"And how does that feel?" he asked, curious to hear her response.

"Not good," she admitted, defeat creeping into her tone. She held his gaze, her deep brown orbs never leaving his. "Scary."

_For the first time, Spencer and Toby could relate to each other. And it wouldn't be the last._

He gazed back in bewilderment. "Why would someone go after you? What makes you so important?"

She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

_She might know a lot, but there were questions even she couldn't answer. Things she could never predict, situations she couldn't prevent._

He leaned forward, intrigued. "Maybe you know something you're not supposed to know." Secrets were a dangerous thing, lurking in the underbelly of this _pristine, perfect _town. Because in Rosewood, a secret revealed, or a lie untold could make a house of cards come crashing down.

She shook her head, shooting him a tentative look. "Yeah, well, whenever I think I know something, I get the rope pulled out from under me and I end up on my ass."

He smiled slightly for the first time in a long time. "_C'est dommage?_" he offered. _That's too bad._

She smiled too, a real smile this time, and again he was startled by her attractiveness. "_C'est la guerre_." _This is war._

For a moment, they lapsed into a comfortable silence, and he thought that maybe, _just maybe_, they could help one another. They could be allies. Friends.

_But not so far in the future, he would be calling her his girlfriend. The love of his life._

But not yet.

"I'm sorry," she ventured suddenly, guilt passing through her eyes as she peered up at him. "for what I said about you. And what I thought."

He looked at her for a moment. At the pretty, wealthy, intelligent girl before him. _I'm sorry. _No one had ever said those two words to him, not sincerely. And he could tell Spencer meant them.

_She never did anything without a reason; what was her reason for apologizing?_

He could sense her guilt. He realized that she was guilty for badmouthing him, for misunderstanding him, and she yearned to discover the real truth. To put them both at ease.

And that yearning, of course, was stronger than her guilt. "The sweater with Alison's blood. You said you gave it to her that night."

"I did." He had. That was what he'd told the police.

"And then she got into a car?" Why was she still pushing this?

"With some guy…I couldn't see who it was," he hissed, lowering his voice. "I'm not supposed to talk about this." Those were his idiot of a lawyer's instructions. _Don't talk. To anyone. Plead the fifth; it's your right, damn it._

Spencer opened her mouth to continue, but a movement through the pale curtain overlooking the porch startled them both.

_Jenna._

"I-I have to go," he blurted, rising. _Crap. _He could almost hear his stepsister's probing, insistent questions and taunts. _Spencer Hastings? You're having rendezvous with that slut?_ "Thanks…for the book."

"Yeah, you're welcome," she said softly. He opened the door to his _hell_-ahem, home-and dared one final glance back at Spencer.

He wasn't sure why, exactly, but he hoped she would come back.

And she did.

_Fate is a funny thing. It works in strange ways. If Toby had slammed the door in Spencer's face that day, their love for each other would've never existed. But they were meant to be together, meant to fall in love._

That moment that the door closed between Spencer Hastings and Toby Cavanaugh, they each swore that it would open again.

_Just as Toby opened the door to Spencer that day, she opened a door, too. The door of his heart._

-:-

Three years later to the day, Spencer Hastings and Toby Cavanaugh sit on a picnic blanket at their special place—the hills overlooking Rosewood. Toby's prized tan Chevy lies a few feet away, parked under a low-hanging tree. Spencer has her head nuzzled against Toby's shoulder, his arms wrapped protectively around her, his fingers tenderly stroking her mahogany curls

_Neither one of them had expected this to happen._

On that fateful day two years before, Spencer and Toby mistrusted each other. They thought they had absolutely nothing in common. They surprised the town by becoming allies, and surprised themselves by falling in love.

_True love conquers all._

Yes, there have been problems. Obstacles, issues, troubles, barriers. But they overcome every hurdle thrown their way—together. Because Toby loves Spencer and Spencer loves Toby, and nobody—not "A" or their parents or Jenna or Wren or anyone else, ever, can change that.

Toby reaches over, gently kissing his content girlfriend, breathing in the scent of her perfume, the same poignant, sweet scent he'd inhaled that day on his porch. Her fingers tangle through his, and she tilts her head up to see him better, brilliant blue and deep brown colliding as their gazes lock.

_Anyone could see how much they loved each other._

"What was that for?" she murmurs, swinging their entwined hands.

He shakes his head slightly, a loving smile passing over his face as he adoringly brushes a piece of hair away from her heart-shaped face. "I just love you."

She smiles back brightly, lifting her head from his shoulder and putting her arms around his neck, stroking the back of his neck.

"I love you, too, Toby." She gently kisses his nose, and he smiles against her skin. He'll never get tired of hearing that.

If you'd told Spencer a mere three years before that she would be in Toby Cavanaugh's arms, telling him that she loved him, she would've asked what drugs you were experimenting with.

_That's the thing about love—it's crazy and impossible and strange, but it changes you. _

It has changed both Spencer and Toby.

Toby kisses her again, then pulls her back against his chest, rubbing her back as she lets out a soft, peaceful sigh. "Can I have you forever?" she whispers into his neck, tracing patterns across the skin there. He smiles down at her, laying a kiss into her hair.

"Forever is a pretty long time, Spence," he whispers back. "Are you sure that you want to commit to that?"

"I've never been more sure about anything," she replies seriously, pulling away slightly to look him in the eyes. "I want you. You and only you."

Toby feels tears sting his eyes as he thinks about how far he and Spencer have come; from deadly enemies, to tentative allies, to friends, to lovers. She has made him happier and more whole than he had ever thought possible. She is his. He is hers. And he never wants that to change.

"As long as I can have you forever," he replies, kissing her jaw. "You and only you."

"Deal."

And as their lips meet, they knew that while it has taken them far too long to realize it, far too many struggles to appreciate it, and far too many snags to hold on to it, their love is real and true and perfect.

Their love is forever.

"Spencer," he breathes, as they break away, pulling his girlfriend back against him, "My Spencer."

She smiles softly, tenderly touching his cheek. "Yours and only yours."

_Life is full of evils. But a love like this is all you need to overcome them. To reach a happily ever after at the end of the fairytale, you must first begin with once upon a time._

They've endured every struggle for their love, and it has made them stronger. It gave them hope and faith—in themselves, in each other.

And if Spencer had never come to his porch that November day, none of it would have happened.

_That is fate._

And for Spencer Hastings and Toby Cavanaugh, fate decreed that their love is real and true and perfect.

And it is.

_Fin._

**A/N: That's it! Hope you guys liked the final installment of this piece! Thanks so, so, SO much to all my lovely reviewers and followers. You guys are the greatest. Love you all! 3**

**And Miss Christine: I hope you liked all three parts of this, even though it is nowhere near the quality of your amazing stories! You are an amazing writer and a terrific person, and I'm so glad you share your talents with me as well as the rest of us on this site. Love you :)**

**So don't forget to review and tell me if I nailed it or failed it ;) Thanks!**

**xox, -Ana**


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